Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Chalice of the Gods(34)

I had apparently given the River Elisson my super-deluxe Poseidon Wash package, complete with triple-foam conditioner, undercarriage rust protection, and extreme shine wax.

I looked around for the staff of rainbows. I didn’t see it. With my luck, I’d probably blasted it all the way to Harlem.

Annabeth was still patting Elisson’s shoulder, making comforting sounds. When I locked eyes with her, she pointed with her chin, telling me to look downriver, but I still didn’t see anything.

Elisson shuddered. “I . . . I didn’t know I had so much water pressure.”

“The flow is great now,” Annabeth said. “It should help with your vinyasa.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. And I’ve never seen a cleaner river. If you find any spots Percy missed, though, I’m sure he could—”

“No!” Elisson yelped. “No, it’s wonderful.”

He said wonderful as if it meant extremely painful.

“Sorry,” I blurted out. I couldn’t believe I was apologizing for rescuing myself from a guy who had tried to kill me, but I felt bad for him. “I got a little carried away.”

He winced. “No . . . no, I asked if you could clean the river. And you did. That will teach me to use sarcasm.”

For once, he didn’t sound sarcastic.

Annabeth gestured downstream again, like she was telling me, Right there, dummy.

This time I saw what she was pointing at. About thirty feet away, Iris’s staff had wedged itself into a crevice right above the waterline. The oak shaft gleamed. The elaborate herald’s crest glowed with a warm yellow light, not a speck of grime on its Celestial bronze designs.

“Uh, if it’s okay,” I said, “I’m just going to . . .” I pointed to the staff.

Elisson wouldn’t meet my eyes. He only nodded. I had the feeling he would’ve had the same reaction if I’d demanded he hand over his wallet. Wow, I was such a terrible person.

As I swam downstream, I heard a faint strand of music drifting through the air: Grover’s panpipes, somewhere far across the cavern. He’d given up on Duran Duran. Now he was playing the Beatles’ “Help!” I took this as a subtle message that he was getting tired of leading the snake parade.

I grabbed Iris’s staff and swam back to Annabeth and Elisson. I was hoping that Annabeth might throw me the rope and help me up, but she didn’t look like she was in any hurry to say good-bye to the river god. In fact, she had pulled out her thermos and was pouring him a hot beverage.

“So this is a nice rose hip–chamomile blend,” she told him. “I think you’ll find it soothing.”

Elisson sipped the tea. “Lovely.”

“What is going on?” I asked.

I wasn’t really expecting an answer, which was good, since I didn’t get one.

“How often a day?” Elisson asked Annabeth.

“Oh, I’d try morning and evening,” she said. “Also, anytime you want to meditate. Here.” She handed him a couple of extra packets. “No caffeine. I’d stay away from that green tea. It’s stressing you out.”

“I suppose you’re right,” the god sighed. “So, for a new schedule . . . perhaps we could reserve every other Saturday for demigods to clean sacred objects. Is—is that fair?”

“More than fair,” Annabeth said.

“Totally,” I agreed. “But right now, we’ve got a friend being chased by snakes.”

Annabeth frowned, like I was ruining a nice moment, but Elisson drained his teacup and handed it back to her. “Of course. Good luck saving your friend. And, uh . . .” He swallowed nervously. “If you were serious about a whale yoga course at Poseidon’s palace . . .”

“Oh, I never kid about whale yoga,” I promised him. “I’ll put in a word with my dad.”

Elisson wiped his nose. “Thank you, Percy Jackson. And, Annabeth Chase, you’ve been very kind.”

Then, clutching his packets of herbal tea, Elisson liquefied and spilled over the side of the cliff. I moved out of the way because I didn’t want to get rained on by his runoff.

Once I was fairly sure he was gone, I looked up at Annabeth. “You brought tea? While I’m down here getting tossed around, you’re literally drinking tea?”

She shrugged. “Iris told us he was into yoga. I figured herbal tea might be a good offering.”

She said this as if her line of reasoning made perfect sense, like of course x = 2yz3 where x is yoga and y is tea.

“Sure,” I said. “Got anything else in there that might help us rescue Grover?”

“Bien s?r,” she said, which I think is French for What do you think, Seaweed Brain? She dug a paper bag from her backpack and shook the contents. “Snake treats. The guy at the store recommended hamster flavor.”

“I have so many questions.”

“We should get going. We’re wasting time.”

“You sure we don’t have time for another cup of Meditation Magic? How about you throw me that rope.”

“Not necessary.” She got to her feet. “Just swim downstream. I’ll turn invisible. . . .” She pulled out her magic New York Yankees cap—her favorite get out of jail free fashion accessory. “I’ll go east and find Grover, distract the snakes with these treats, and get him out of danger.”